


Stattlich

by TrekFaerie



Series: Spaghetti Threesomes [2]
Category: Django Unchained (2012)
Genre: Multi, OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 11:10:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrekFaerie/pseuds/TrekFaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Separate or together, they all end up in the same sleeping bag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stattlich

They were a team, Broomhilda and Schultz, maybe even more than Django had ever been. They got on better than he thought a former slave girl and a former dentist (now bounty hunter) ever would, and they seemed to have more in common than he had expected. At least, they never ran out of things to talk about, even though most of that talking seemed to be about him.

When Hildy ended up being just as good of a shot as any of the boys, Django had half-seriously worried that he was out of a job. They must have noticed, because one night, when they were finished hoisting the corpses of their bounties into a cart, Schultz wrapped his arms around both of their shoulders and brought them in for a hug, openly wondering what he would ever do without the both of them. " _Meine Lieblinge_ ," he had said, so fondly Django didn't even need a translation to know what he was saying.

Sometimes, on cold nights where even the fire wasn't enough to keep away the mountain chill, Schultz would slip out of his own sleeping bag and make his way over to where Django and Hildy were spooning by the fire, and whisper something to her. He didn't need to hear it or understand it to know what he was asking; he wanted in, probably with some sort of bullshit reason about body heat that neither of them believed.

But, she would let him, and he wouldn't mind, 'cause this crazy old white man was the reason the two of them had this life of freedom together, so the least he could do was let him in the sleeping bag on a cold night. Even if Schultz insisted on sleeping on the opposite side of him, leaving Django in between. He didn't understand that for a while.

They would talk over his chest, the pace of their conversations increasing week after week, as Hildy fell back into a language learned in childhood. Django couldn't keep up, and, after a while, stopped trying. He only needed to pay attention to one little thing: the little change in their tone that said it was gonna be another one of those nights.

It started with hands, one pair dark and one pair light, that made their way under Django's nightshirt until they pulled it off, throwing it onto the dirt. His own arms, large and reassuring, wrapped around the both of them as those hands moved over well-worn paths, over old scars and healed wounds, smooth skin made hot by closeness and need.

They first time they'd kissed, he'd reacted badly; he still remembered his life before, watching other people touch his lady while he sat back, helpless and hopeless. But time had passed and their kissing didn't mean that anymore; it just meant they were one step away from kissing him, together or separate. 

When they were separate, it was different: Django and Hildy making love in the cart; Django fucking Schultz into the ground; Hildy and Schultz riding each other in some fancy hotel room. When they were together, though, it was all hands and mouths, fingers and teeth, friction and heat until they were all sated and exhausted and whispering sweet little words in all kinds of languages to each other.

During one of those times, he learned what that phrase Schultz always used meant. _Darlings._


End file.
